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Just this side of Heaven... is a place called Rainbow Bridge.When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.There is plenty of food and water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.  All the animals who had been ill and old are
restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or
maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we
remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The
animals are happy and content, except for one small thing:
they miss someone very special to them; who had to be left
behind. They all run and play together, but the day comes
when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. The
bright eyes are intent; the eager body quivers.
Suddenly he begins to break away from the group,
flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster
and faster. YOU have been spotted, and when you and your
special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous
reunion, never to be parted again.The happy kisses rain
upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head,
and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet,
so long gone from your life but never absent from you
heart. Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.......Author
Unknown
By Emily Murphy, in memory of Zorba Like lots of kids, I grew up with a semi-anonymous string of house pets cycling in and out of my world. Mostly they consisted of neglected goldfish barely visible through murky water, outdoor cats who sometimes visited the grungy bowls on the back porch, and untrained dogs who barked and jumped uncontrollably and were never calm enough to leave the backyard. As a kid, house pets existed only in my periphery, as sometimes cute, but mostly annoying side notes that came and went without much notice. Technically, I suppose that means I was raised with animals, but I wasn’t; I was raised around animals, a distinction I didn’t recognized until years later when I met Zorba.  Fresh out of college and settled into my own
place with my first “real” job, I decided I was ready for
my first pet of my very own. When my dad came to
visit, we went to the local humane society to pick out a
kitten. I was looking for something Siamese, tiny,
and cuddly, and there were several of that variety to
choose from. However, I couldn’t concentrate on
getting to know any of them because of this insistent
yowling coming from one of the kennels on the far end.
When I went to find the source of this distraction,
I found myself looking into the intense green eyes of a
grayish, calico kitten whose cry was easily translated
into “Get me out of here!” I obeyed.For most of
Zorba’s first night home, my dad and I furiously tried to
pick all the fleas off of her by hand. Being native
Montanans, he and I had little experience with the elusive
critters so common on the Southern Oregon coast, and had
to learn the hard way that getting rid of fleas requires
chemical intervention. After eradicating the fleas,
ear mites, and ring worm (but not before I contracted a
nasty case on my forehead), Zorba and I settled into our
life together. It was then that I understood the
difference between living around animals and living with
them, a concept that any animal lover needs no explanation
of. I would love to write on and on about all the
adventures Zorba and I had together and try to express
just how much I loved that furry little creature.
But animal lovers also know that no amount of
reminiscing could adequately express the bond that forms
between people and pets. Any attempt at representing
my feelings about Zorba would fall far short. She
was my friend and companion, and her death, after nine
years, has left a significant void in my life and in my
heart. It’s no secret that it’s hard to lose a pet. But I
was pretty unprepared for just how much Zorba’s death
affected me. I cried like I had never cried before:
an uncontrollable, heaving sob that left me exhausted and
drained for days. After two months, I still tear up
when someone brings her up, and I stop to stare at her
picture every time I walk by it in my living room.
At first I felt a little embarrassed about my
seemingly exaggerated grief over a cat, and I would try to
cover up my sadness around all but my closest friends and
family. But I’m okay with it now, and not at all
embarrassed to say that losing Zorba has been one of the
most difficult experiences of my life. No, Zorba wasn’t my
child, she wasn’t even a person, but she was my friend.
She gave me unconditional love and cuddled beside me
every night for nine years. She curled up on my
lap,followed me everywhere, and comforted me with her
slow, rumbling purr. I adored her. I know that my
experience and my grief are not unique or unusual in any
way among animal lovers. We are the lucky people who
have big enough hearts to feel the love animals have to
give, and to give it in return. They deserve our grief and
the places in our hearts where they will always be
remembered.
Chester Ross This is a tribute and a fond farewell to the most wonderful cat in the world....Chester."He picked me out at the Humane Society Shelter when I first moved to Montana...20 years ago. He didn't have a favorite toy, he preferred to be with his people, doing what they did. He was Mamma's Boy for 17 years, but when we moved to the new house and his   Daddy was home most of the time, he became
Daddy's little helper. He helped Phil with his carpentry
projects and inspected them for himafterward. His favorite
part of the day was when he heard the garage door go
up...he would race to the back door to wait for Phil to
come in. After greetings, they sat in the recliner and
watched the news, then the Hockey games. In spite of
arthritic hind legs, renal failure, thyroid tumor and high
blood pressure, Chet was always waiting for us. When
we came home from skiing, even up to a month ago, he would
root through our equipment bags, flipping the contents out
on the floor. Even yesterday he was chirping at
the magpies trying to steal food from the barn cats'
feeder. And last night he watched hockey with his
Dad as usual. I should be grateful it all happened
so fast and that we were with him, but I'm still in shock
and my heart is broken.I know that now he is whole and
enjoying the reunion with his old buddy Nugget who has
waited 10 years for this day, but I will miss him and his
love in my life forever. Good Night Sweet Prince, you were
one of a kind." - Char
Rosie 1986 - 2007 In 1989, My sophomore year of college, I went to the Humane Society in Missoula to see about adopting a forever friend (I grew up back home in MN with pets and my MT college life was too quiet without them).  The front room of the Humane Society contained
a wall of stainless steel, comfy, clean cage-apartments
full of sweet kittens mewing and sticking their little
paws out at me when I walked by. Except for one cat, who
was sitting with her back to me, with her face in a big
dish of food. She was full grown and oblivious to
the kitty pandemonium around her. I knew right there that
Rosie was for me. I was told that Rosie had been found
locked in an abandoned home in a rural area and was near
death when rescued. And thanks to the great people at the
shelter, they were able to nurse her back to health over
the course of many months. It was said that some folks
took turns bringing her home during that time to give her
the extra love and attention she needed to heal. I
also found out, when they put Rosie in my arms, that she
didn't have a tail. She was a Manx. I had never heard of
that before, but they told me that the Manx was a breed
without tails from the Isle of Mann in the British Isles.
Rosie had a look in her eyes, in her round face, as
many  people would tell me over the years, like Mona
Lisa, and an old soul to match. Rosie has traveled
thousands of miles and lived in four different states with
me over our 18 years together. Rosie was always a content
and calm traveling companion, sitting on my sister's lap
on a 3-day move from Portland, OR to Ely, MN.  She always willingly shared her people with the
other furbabies, as they came along, and never said no to
a little supervised walk around the yard to sniff the
flowers. Only once did Rosie, in her younger days, slip
out the door and hop away (Manx's hop when they run).
Luckily, she was found, in the kitchen, of course
(she came through an open window), by a very kind
fraternity brother on Daly Street and returned to me
promptly. After that, she never left my side. Rosie
has outlived two of her cat siblings in South Dakota, Spud
and Daisy, and leave behind her brother, Willie dog, and
Ely cat, as well as her human father, James Hilgemann and
human mother, Andrea Voelke. Rosie, you were an
institution. We miss you so much. Thanks for a good
long ride together, my girl.
PEACHES: 1993 - 2007 Peaches came into our family 13 years ago when I was 11 years old.  She grew up with us in Spokane, WA. When
she was small we wished she would get big so we could do
more things with her yet when she got big we missed the
puppy days. She was a great dog and had two major loves in
life, food and tennis balls. She only chased things there
were round. You couldn't get her to chase a Frisbee
if your life depended on it. She loved attention. She
would always drop her ball right in your way no matter
what you were doing. If you were petting her and stopped,
she would nudge your hand with her nose and put her head
right under your had to pet her again.  She was a very good dog and always like to
shake hands. She was always there when you wanted/needed
her and was always there when you didn't want/need her.
She wouldn't leave you alone and now that I look back on
it, I am very glad she did so. Peaches, you will always be
a part of my life. We had many great times and I look back
on everything we did together and will cherish every
moment. You gave me a great friendship and were always
there for me. You taught me something very valuable in
life and this is to be strong. You never showed pain and
went through life with a positive attitude towards
everything, except when it came to sharing your food, you
hated that. Thanks for everything and you will be greatly
missed. I love you Peaches.
--Chris
JAKE WAYNE: 1987 - 2006 Jake Wayne died of liver cancer on a cold gray November day at the age of nineteen. He found meas a very tiny kitten in Phoenix Arizona. Someone dumped him in the parking lot of the apartment complex I was living in. I found out he had been scrounging for food for three days when I went door to door to find his Mama. He was drenched in motor oil (he must have been hiding in engines or making repairs on them, he didn't say). I named him Jake. A good, solid, mechanic's name. I took him home, gave him a bath and set him in front of a huge dish of food. He was ravenous. He slept in front of that food bowl for days, making sure it didn't go anywhere.  As he grew up he developed a swagger like John
Wayne. Head down, ears back, magnificent whiskers, and
handsome. He was just plain cool. Hence the name "Jake
Wayne". In his eighteenth year he started talking to his
water dish. A deep soulful meowing from the back of his
throat that echoed throughout the house. At 6 O'clock in
the evening, or 3:00 A.M. It didn't matter. We always knew
when Jake was getting a drink. In August of this year, we
made a trip to Animal Blessings Pet Hospital for some
blood work as Jake seemed to be in some distress. Finding
that he was low on potassium we began a daily regimen of a
pill every night before bed. 2 ½ months later Doctor
Zirbel found that he had developed diabetes and his liver
was riddled with cancer and full of holes. The ultrasound
picture looked like swiss cheese. Literally. The two
diseases manifested themselves virtually overnight. With
the rapid progression of the cancer his prognosis was
grim. So to spare Jake the pain and suffering that was
coming...he went to the Rainbow Bridge in my arms,
purring, my face buried in his back. We laid him to rest
in our little pet cemetery in the backyard next to Mr.
Samperstein and Tuna...God bless Jake Wayne. He was my
boy. Karyn Moltzen
HARLEY: 1995-2006  I got Harley while stationed in San Diego. He was roley-poley, little, white, fluff ball. I named him Harley because his purr rivaled a Harley motorcycle...I rarely fell asleep before he did.. He loved to ambush my other cat, Pricilla by jumping on top of her and playing peek-a-boo around every corner. He would supervise my morning routine from his favorite viewpoint and watering hole, the bathroom sink. As he go older, Harley became my true pal and confidant - always there, through thick and thin. When I needed to cry, he gave me an understandable nudge, and when I was celebrating, he meowed like he knew why. Although sometimes made fun of because of his large size, Harley was beautiful and proud. He was diagnosed with diabetes last month. The prognosis was a shot of insulin twice a day for the rest of his life. With the help and support of my Mom, things were looking pretty good for a couple of weeks. However, he took a turn for the worse, and his body decided it didn't want to work anymore. I miss him dearly - I lost my pal, my little boy and my companion of the last 12 years. I will love you always, Harley. XXOOXX Next page of Memorials |
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